


Flesh and Bone

by Rebcake



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Body Image, Clothing, F/M, Humor, Season/Series 06, Skeletons, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebcake/pseuds/Rebcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new evil in Sunnydale — one that may defeat Buffy without a fight. Spike supplies perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Skeleton Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Something Wicked This Way Comes" Mortifex challenge at LiveJournal's sb_fag_ends community for Halloween 2011. Prompt for this chapter was "Skeleton Army".

Mortiflex was taking over Sunnydale.  
   
Some advertising genius had decided that the Mortiflex ActifWear (“MAW” to its adherents) line of day-to-evening gym bunny clothes would be shown to best advantage against the backdrop of various historic Sunnydale graveyards. Spike and Buffy had been forced to abandon their usual patrol activities to guard the dozens of makeup artists, hairdressers, wardrobe minions, lighting assistants, ADs, and — worst of all — models that clogged one or another of the cemeteries each night.  
   
“Those girls can’t possibly be human,” said Buffy, absently tapping her heels against the tombstone on which she perched. “I’ll bet there’s evil afoot.”  
   
Spike surveyed the suspects. Each girl was approaching six foot something, painfully thin, and smoking like a jalopy in need of a ring job. A jalopy that was polished and upholstered beyond the point of “cherry”. He took a deep sniff.  
   
“Don’t smell evil,” he said with a shrug.  
   
She stared at him in horror. “I can _not_ believe you just said that.” She kicked off her grave marker and did a pretty convincing flouncing off. Not convincing enough, however, as they’d been going through variations on this for months. He wondered what had set her off this time. He heard her mutter, “I can’t help it if my job isn’t sweet-smelling enough for 100-years dead nostrils.” He sighed and went after her.  
   
“Buffy! Just meant that they smell human. Not vampires or anything, alright?” He kept his voice low as they approached the temporary dressing room set up by the DeValle crypt, although he couldn’t hear anything stirring within.  
   
“Whatever,” she huffed, allowing him to catch up.  
   
Wouldn’t do any good to beg forgiveness for his non-transgression, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else about, so he decided a good offense was in order. He caught the crook of her elbow and tugged her into the tent. It was indeed deserted for the moment. He backed her into a rack of clothes, diving down to nuzzle her neck.  
   
“Besides, you know there’s nothing smells as delicious to me as brassed-off Slayer,” he said, punctuating his admission with a long, slow lick from collarbone to earlobe.  
   
God help him, it was true. The lingering aroma of burgers, fries, and spilled soda pop was more arousing than any $200 an ounce perfume he’d ever come across. It must be a Pavlovian conditioning thing. Though he’d admit to himself that it also brought a nostalgic thrill for the golden age of carhop suppers. He peppered kisses down her breastbone, nimble fingers working at the fastenings of her blouse.  
   
“Yeah, right. Those girls have probably never even seen a Double Meat Medley. I might as well be mainlining the oil from the deep-fat fryer.”  
   
He froze in the act of removing her top. He looked up at her distracted pout, then back at the rib cage clearly delineated under the golden skin in front of him.  
   
“Let me get this straight. Are you saying that those dusty, dried up bags o’bones are making you feel _fat?”_  
   
She shrugged eloquently.  
   
“Bloody hell. I was wrong. If those emaciated stilt-walkers can have that effect on a strong, succulent — and quite fit — specimen like you, there is _definitely_ something evil at work. Dark, dreadful, malevolent evil. Should get to the bottom of it just as soon as I’m finished getting to the bottom of you.”  
   
He made a grab for her sweet little arse. She squeaked and twisted away. After a brief, playful struggle — during which a rack or two of ActifWear overturned with the “whumpf” of falling fabric — they ended up in an undulating tangle of limbs and tongues.  
   
Scant minutes later, he squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away from the glorious sight of Buffy bouncing above him. In an effort to keep from going over the edge, he took a gasping breath, his face half-buried in scattered Mortiflex garments.  
   
He caught a faint, but clearly present, whiff of black magic.  
   
He hated to rush a job as pleasant as this one, so he didn’t. There would be plenty of time to deal with the new threat in town once he’d put his Slayer to rights. Fortified with just enough distraction to give him an extra handle on his self-control, he seized her hips and went to work.


	2. Think and Grow Thin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this chapter was "Zombies".

The zombies weren’t that noticeable at first. They weren’t the gross, dead kind. They weren’t trying to eat brains or infect anybody. Buffy only caught on when a significant portion of the lunch crowd at the Doublemeat Palace placed their orders while jogging in place or doing jumping jacks. The hundred yard stare was another hint, as was the emotionless monotone they used — even in response to the announcement that there was no more Diet Coke.  
   
Wondering if it was just a Doublemeat problem — it wouldn’t be the first time — she looked out the window and noticed that the morning joggers she’d seen on her way to work were still jogging by. She did a quick recon of the neighborhood during her break. Mid-morning tai chi in the park was still going strong at 3 p.m.  
   
Clearly, the weirdness was within the Slayer’s jurisdiction. Unfortunately she couldn’t do anything about it until her shift ended. Not that she had a single clue what she _could_ do. Mindlessly exercising for hours on end might be disturbing but it wasn’t exactly a slayable offense.  
   
She set off for the Magic Box after work, dodging the evening bicycle commuters that were still whizzing through town at 7 p.m. The riders’ blank expressions were made even more creeptastic by the sweat pouring down their faces.  
   
When she got there, Dawn was doing her homework. Xander was stacking boxes by the basement door. Everything was perfectly normal.  
   
“So, evil gym shorts,” announced Buffy. “What do we know?”  
   
Xander paused in his labors. “Leave out the starch next time?”  
   
“You didn’t notice? The speed walkers that just won’t quit? All the joggers?”  
   
“Ah. Now that you mention it, there did seem to be an awful lot of bounc…I mean, jogging going on,” said Xander. “It didn’t seem evil, though. Distracting, maybe — but it’s just good, healthy exercise, right?”  
   
Spike swung through the door behind the counter.  
   
“Talking about the mojo’ed athletic kit? Bloody strange way to take over a Hellmouth, you ask me.”  
   
“Really wasn’t,” said Buffy. “But now that you mention it, what’s the point?”  
   
“Point of what?” asked Dawn.  
   
“Spike found a stash of enchanted workout wear last night, and today people are doing a zombie jamboree version of their exercise routines. It’s definitely sinister. And no coincidence, I’m betting.”  
   
“Poor buggers are starting to drop from exhaustion,” said Spike.  
   
“They can’t stop?” asked Dawn. “Is it like the dance-’til-you-drop curse?”  
   
“Oh god,” said Xander.  
   
He hurried to the training room and flung open the door. Anya was grunting within, doing an endless set of lunges, her face blank and shiny. Dawn, Buffy, and Spike crowded into the room behind him.  
   
“I thought her stretches were taking an awfully long time,” said Dawn.  
   
Buffy sighed. “How long has she been at it?”  
   
“Over an hour, I think.”  
   
Xander gestured wildly. “Just look at her! It’s like the evil egg-baby possession, all over again. I hate the Hellmouth.”  
   
Spike inhaled deeply.  
   
“Yep,” he said, pointing at Anya’s backside. “There’s your evil.”  
   
“What? She’s not…oh, right. Well, now what?” asked Xander.  
   
“Could try peeling ’em off her,” said Spike with an evil gleam in his eye.  
   
“You are _not_ pantsing my girlfriend!”  
   
“By all means, be my guest,” said Spike. The gleam was still there.  
   
“Turn around,” Buffy ordered.  
   
Spike turned his back, muttering. Buffy and Xander gingerly approached Anya. Buffy lifted the back of the girl’s shirt, exposing her waistband and the skin above. There was a spider-webbing of blackish green lines heading up her spine and spreading outward. It hadn’t got far. Xander shuddered and yanked the offending garment down to Anya’s ankles in one motion. She toppled over onto the mat, breathing heavily.  
   
Buffy grabbed the pants and Spike, who managed to get in a few good looks even as he was dragged from the room. She shoved the material into his arms.  
   
“What more can you tell?” she demanded.  
   
He looked closely at the garment, stretching it and feeling around the back of the band, finally taking sniff.  
   
“Well?”  
   
“A gentleman never tells,” he said with a smirk. She glared. “But yeah, there’s a talisman sewn into the lining, just here. Sit rights over the spine when anyone puts ’em on.”  
   
“Eww,” said Buffy.  
   
They trooped back into the training room. Anya huddled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and Xander’s arms. Dawn plied her with water.  
   
“Sorry, Anya, but we need to take a look at your back,” said Buffy.  
   
“What? Him too?” objected Xander.  
   
“Sorry,” repeated Buffy. “He’s got the best eyes.”  
   
“Like I don’t know that,” he grumbled.  
   
Anya turned awkwardly and lowered the blanket enough for them to see her lower back. The lines were already retreating, and there was a red spot a few inches above her coccyx.  
   
“Doesn’t seem to actually break the skin,” observed Spike.  
   
“Slightly less eww, but not by much. We’ve got to get rid of this stuff, right now.” She shuddered. “Unless somebody has a better idea, we’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”  
   
“Got a feeling I’m gonna like this plan,” said Spike.  
   
“Don’t get all excited.”  
   
“Too late.”  
   
“Can I put my blanket back on?” asked Anya. “You should go slay the bad pants. I need to relax after my ordeal.”  
   
+++  
   
Ninety minutes later, they stumbled into his crypt, arms laden with huge piles of Mortiflex ActifWear. Buffy was flushed and smiling widely. Spike looked like the proverbial cat. He dumped his pile in a far corner.  
   
“Now _that_ was fun.”  
   
Buffy dumped her pile on top of his.  
   
“I dunno. I felt kinda bad. They all had to walk home in their underwear…”  
   
“Yeah, but they had their brains back. And their bodily integrity, if not their dignity. _And_ it was bloody hilarious. Tag team pantsing. You’re a crime-fighting genius, Slayer.”  
   
“I guess I do okay, sometimes. Tonight was pretty good. There’s just one more thing, though.”  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
“You’re it!”

_FIN_


End file.
